


How To Beat Five Nights At Freddy's

by Rockinmuffin



Series: Please Don't Touch The Animatronics [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Basically Reader goes out of their way to make the animatronics super UNCOMFORTABLE, Crack, Crude Humor, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Exaggerated Sexual Harassment that borders on Sexual Assault, Exhibitionism, Furries, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Mildly Explicit, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Other, POV Second Person, Parody, Reader-Insert, Sexual Harassment, So exaggerated that it's done for the lulz, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockinmuffin/pseuds/Rockinmuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being locked up for six hours each night with a group of murderous animatronics? Yeah, okay, but who's going to protect the animatronics from you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night 1: Silly Rabbit, These Tricks Ain't For Kids!

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Five Night’s at Freddy’s.
> 
> I take no credit for this idea. This story is completely inspired by [this tumblr post](http://rockinmuffin.tumblr.com/tagged/Now-I%27m-ready-for-Freddy) so a huge shout-out to tumblr user the-wings-of-fandom for the inspiration. And apologies in advance that your joke inspired this piece of trash.

“Look, I’ve got to be straight with you, mostly because I’m required to tell you by law; these robots will murder you in cold blood. The longest I’ve ever had a security guard last is a week and most of them don’t even make it that far. This job is basically suicide.”

You nod your head, pretending to mull over his words even though you’ve already made your decision. “Yeeeaaaah,” you drawl, “It ain’t no thang. I’ll take the job.”

The owner of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza steeples his fingers together as he looks down at you from across a grease-covered table. “I don’t think you understand; you _will_ die if you go through with this.”

“Nah, man, it’s cool.” You wave your hand in his face. “I’ve got a fool-proof strategy for dealing with any life-threatening scenario. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

“I think you’re underestimating the seriousness of this situation.”

“And _I_ think _you_ are underestimating the serious awesomeness of my skills,” you respond with an extreme level of overconfidence that can only be achieved by the young and stupid. It’s the same sort of misplaced faith in oneself that can convince a person it’s a good idea to jump off the roof of their home because, hey, why the hell not? It’s with that same stupid determination that you stare the man down.

The owner of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza exhales loud and deep; he knows he cannot win. “Whatever, kid. It’s your funeral.”

**~*~**

Your first night on the job and the first hour is spent sitting on your ass, twiddling your thumbs. You almost begin to think that greasy old pizzeria owner was just hyping the place up. Nothing happens until half past one in the morning.

You don’t start when the camera reveals one of the animatronics has moved off the stage. You calmly track its movements as it slowly makes its way to your office. When you can’t find it on any of your security cameras, you turn on the light and are met with the soul-sucking gaze of the giant purple bunny as it lingers at the doorway.

You leave the light on, letting the florescent lights flicker as you keep your eyes on Bonnie. You maintain eye contact as you unzip your pants, stick your hand under the elastic of your underwear, and begin to masturbate furiously.

“What…what are you _doing_?”

You say nothing, just narrow your eyes a sliver as the motions of your hand speed up. Your face hurts from the strain of keeping your expression as neutral as possible, nostrils flaring and blood rushing to your cheeks as you keep staring Bonnie straight in the eyes.

You come quickly with a shudder and a silent moan, eyes impossibly wide and unblinking, trapping Bonnie with your gaze. You maintain that horrible eye contact as you pull your fingers out of your underwear, digits shimmering in the light with the moisture of your own fluids.

Your attention flickers briefly down to your fingers before redirecting back to the bunny. It hasn’t moved an inch from its place in the doorway. You raise an eyebrow. “You just gonna’ keep standing there, rabbit? ‘Cuz I can do this all night.” Your fingers begin to crawl back down to the waistband of your underwear like a threat.

Without a word, Bonnie slowly turns around and walks away.

You pull your zipper up, wipe your fingers on the pants leg of your uniform, and turn back to the camera feed.

**~*~**

“Bonnie, you’ve been in the supply closet for two hours.” Freddy raps his fist gently against the locked door. “Are you okay?”

Bonnie looks beyond the wall of the cramped closet—beyond even the walls of the pizzeria—and out into the infinite abyss, his eyes glossed over in a thousand-yard stare. He’s got the same look in his eyes as a Vietnam veteran who watched his best friend’s legs get blown off right in front of him. It’s the look of a man who has seen some serious shit.

“No,” he finally answers. “I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay _again_.”

“Jesus, man. What did that new guard _do_ to you?”

The only answer Freddy receives is the broken sobs of an even more broken husk of a giant purple animatronic rabbit.

**~*~**

When the clock strikes six, you walk out of the office with a shit-eating grin plastered across your face. You pause at the main stage and whisper an ominous, _“See your fine furry ass tonight,”_ before blowing Bonnie an exaggerated kiss.

You like to think the muffled whimpering you hear on your way out is more than just your imagination.


	2. Night 2: Tastes Like Chicken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KFC = Kinky Fucking Chicken
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Five Night’s at Freddy’s.

Your second night, the robots don’t keep you waiting very long. Within the first half hour and both the rabbit and chicken are on the move.

Bonnie seems to be keeping its distance this night, spending most of its time in the supply closet. The rabbit wanders off the stage but never comes closer to you than the supply closet. You’re a little disappointed. You thought what the two of you had was special.

That’s okay, though. It’s probably just shy. Besides, Bonnie’s not the only anthropomorphic robot in this pizzeria thirsty for what you’re brewing. And what you’re brewing is some sweet security guard booty.

You track Chica’s movements with the security cameras as it steadily makes its way towards your office. When you lose sight of it on the camera feed, you flash the hall light on and are not surprised to see Chica staring into the room at you with its face pressed firmly against the glass.

You glance at the bib hanging around its neck. “ _Let’s eat_ , huh?” You crane your neck and make a show of looking Chica up and down. “Yeah, I’d let you eat me, but only if I get to eat you too.”

It tilts its head to the side, beak-mouth gaping open in a stupid-looking expression. The second set of teeth in the back of its throat is probably meant to be intimidating but only succeed in making it look goofy as hell. Fortunately for you, stupid faces are not necessarily a turn-off.

“Mmm, I bet you’re finger-lickin’ good.” You keep your unblinking gaze on Chica as you wiggle your tongue between the v-shape of your fingers. “C’mere and ride my face. I want me a taste o’ that Colonel Sanders original recipe.”

“Wh-what?”

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you? I bet a little dirty talk really ruffles your feathers.”

“I don’t—” it squawks out indignantly, unable to even finish its thought.

You unbutton the top three buttons of your shirt, your fingers dipping to trace along the skin of your collarbone. “Now pluck out one of your feathers and tickle my nipples with it.”

Somehow, that ugly maw opens even wider.

“What? Too tame for you?” You lean forward in your chair, hands gripping your knees as you spread your thighs wide in your seat. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to squat over me—”

“No—” it whimpers.

“Lay a hot, steamy egg on my chest—”

“Please stop—”

“And call me a naughty Easter basket.”

“What does that even _mean_?”

You stare that giant animatronic chicken dead in its plastic eyes as you give each of your nipples a firm pinch through your uniform. “It means I want you to cock-a-doodle- _do my hot butt_.”

It covers both its hands over its face and backs away from the glass.

“Chica? Did you hear me?” you call after it. “I said I want to do the do with you!”

Hands still covering its eyes, it speed walks down the hallway and out of sight.

You lean back in your chair, arms behind your neck and legs crossed. “Alright, babe. If you want to play hard to get, that’s cool. You know where to find me if your ass ever wants a good chicken-lickin’.”

**~*~**

Freddy finds Chica in the kitchen throwing back long gulps of dish soap like shots of vodka.

“Chica, I don’t think you should—”

She cuts him off with a simple raise of her finger. Eyes closed and finger still in the air, she downs the rest of the bottle’s contents before chucking it across the kitchen floor.

“Chica…” He takes a step closer.

She keeps her eyes downcast, never quite meeting Freddy’s gaze. Freddy takes another cautious step towards her. 

“I’ve never felt so objectified before in my life and I’m an actual physical object made of metal and junk.”

She releases a drawn-out sigh and a long stream of soap bubbles escapes past her beak.

Freddy watches as she yanks open the freezer, pulls out some frozen pizza dough, and begins gnawing at it with both sets of teeth.

“Chica, it’s not healthy for you to eat your feelings.”

He ducks just in time to smoothly dodge the chunk of frozen dough aimed for his head. The saucepan hurdling toward his face, on the other hand, nearly clips his ear.

“Chica! Don’t—!”

“DON’T TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE!”

Freddy darts out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, three large knives and a pizza cutter find themselves embedded into the wood on the other side of the door.

Freddy decides to give Chica her space for the rest of the night.

**~*~**

When you pass by the stage after the end of your shift, you notice both the bunny’s and the chicken’s eyes are averted off to the side, almost as if they’re trying to avoid making eye contact. The bear, however, is staring right at you.

You flash it a toothy grin before continuing on your way.


	3. Night 3: Would You Yiff A Pirate Fox?  Would You Yiff Him On A Pizza Box?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled, What Does The Fox Say (When He’s Yiffing You Up The Poop Deck)?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Five Night’s At Freddy’s

The third night, Bonnie and Chica are offstage within minutes. Freddy stays in place, but its head is facing towards the camera, giving you a clear view of them big ol’ baby blues.

“Yeah, good to see you too, Fazfuck. Will you finally be gracing me with your presence tonight?”

The bear doesn’t respond, obviously, because it can’t hear you, but also probably because it’s rude as fuck. Seriously, you’ve been here two nights already and the character that the whole franchise is named for hasn’t even dropped by to say hello. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned hospitality?

You’re casually flipping through the different camera feeds when you spot something you haven’t seen before; a furry fox fuck with some ghetto-ass-looking repair job peeking its head out from behind the curtain at Pirate Cove.

“Hello, fresh meat.” You zoom the camera in on its goofy face. “Hope you like it raw.”

You keep an eye on it for about a minute but quickly grow bored by its lack of movement. The gangly-lookin’ thing must be camera shy. Cute.

You spend the next forty minutes working on a crossword puzzle. The twenty minutes after that are used to play tic-tac-toe against yourself until you get tired of each game ending in a tie and start drawing dicks along the border of your newspaper. It’s after you’ve drawn your thirteenth dong that you remember you’re in a haunted pizzeria or whatever and should probably take this job just a little more seriously.

You flick on the left and right hall lights long enough to see that nothing’s there. You flip through the cameras; Freddy’s still on stage, Bonnie’s hanging around the supply closet again, and Chica’s making a lot of noise in the kitchen.

Pirate Cove is empty.

A second’s glance at the camera in the west hall shows you that the fox is on its way, and _fast_. You can hear the heavy metal clunks of its footfalls down the hall as it grows closer and closer.

You don’t have time to think things through; you just do the first stupid thing that pops into your head.

You bend over the desk and pull your pants down—underwear and all—spreading your butt cheeks apart just as Foxy rushes into the room.

You look at animatronic fox over your shoulder, eyes lidded and lips pouting in your most fuck-me-est expression. “Yo, ass-pirate, how about plunderin’ this booty?”

Foxy’s jaw sparks.

“If you’re waiting for permission to board, well,” you give the fox pirate abomination of matted fur and machinery a quick once-over and a wink, “Permission granted, Cap’n.”

Foxy backs out, making a hasty retreat down the hallway and back to the relative safety of its curtain.

“Wait, come back!” you shout after it, pants hanging around your ankles as you stumble towards the doorway. “I still haven’t told you where you can bury your treasure!”

**~*~**

Freddy pulls back the curtains covering Pirate Cove and finds Foxy. Nothing out of the usual, really, except for the fact that the ol’ sea fox is rocking back and forth in the fetal position.

“Oh no, what’s happened this time?”

At the sound of the unexpected voice, Foxy jumps up from his seated position, yanking the curtains from Freddy’s grip and pulling them back into place.

“Christ, Foxy, what’s your problem?” Freddy’s attempts to pull the curtains back are ineffective.

Just the tip of Foxy’s snout peeks out from behind the curtains. “Keep ‘em closed, mate. I can feel their eyes on me, watchin’ me every move.”

“Foxy, don’t you think you’re being just a little bit paranoid?”

A hooked arm shoots out from the relative safety of the curtains and Freddy’s attention is directed towards the loud whirring of the camera stationed just outside Pirate Cove as the lens zooms in on Foxy. Foxy quickly pulls his arm back and shudders behind the curtain.

Freddy raises a single eyebrow. “I stand corrected.”

Foxy keens out a whimper that sounds less like a whimper and more like a screech of loose gears scraping against one another.

Freddy drags a paw over his face. “Look, Foxy, you can’t hide here forever. I already have Bonnie and Chica to worry about; I don’t feel like dealing with you too.”

Finally, Foxy pokes his head out all the way from behind the curtain. He lifts his eye patch, looking Freddy dead in the eyes. “Have you ever stared into the winking asshole of a complete stranger, Fazbear?”

“Uhh…”

“Because I have. _I have_ ,” he repeats quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “This ol’ Cap’n stared straight into the brown eye of the storm and lived to tell the tale. And me eyes can never un-see what they saw tonight.”

Freddy has nothing to say to that.

**~*~**

Newspaper rolled under your arm, you hum the Pirate Cove theme song under your breath as you stroll past the curtains and closer to the main stage.

You pause in your stride, pointing your index and middle finger towards your eyes then back to the bear’s. “Tonight,” you whisper. “ _You_.”

You laugh and give a flick to Freddy’s stupid top hat before taking your leave.

Freddy’s gaze follows you all the way out the door.

Mess with his teammates? That was a good way to get on his bad side. But mess with his hat?

_Now, it’s personal_.


	4. Night 4: Unbearable Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bears are in. I hope you’re using a condom.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Five Night’s At Freddy’s

Fourth night and you raise an eyebrow when you check the cameras and see that the bear has left the stage within the first twenty minutes.

You lean back in your chair, taking a moment to look at the empty space on stage. You shake your head and switch the camera feed, checking in on Foxy and taking note of Bonnie’s and Chica’s positions before you finally spot Freddy in the east hall. He might’ve kept you waiting for three nights, but it looks like the fucker’s not wasting any more time tonight. You can respect that. The bear’s a boss bitch that knows what it wants when it wants it.

“So,” you steeple your fingers together, “The time has finally come.”

You close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath. When you open your eyes, they are full of the steely determination of someone who severely overestimates their own abilities.

“My body is ready for Freddy.”

**~*~**

When Freddy enters the office, he’s a little disappointed.

After seeing the traumatized reactions of the rest of the gang, he expected a door slam to the face at the very least, but the new guard isn’t even paying attention. For whatever reason, their chair is actually turned around backwards. All Freddy can see is the top of the guard’s hat from over the back of the chair’s headrest.

It’s a little embarrassing, actually, to think some rookie night guard has been causing so much trouble for the others. Well, they won’t be causing trouble for much longer.

Chest puffed out and arms raised, Freddy grabs the chair, spins it around, and is met with the sight of the security guard’s hat placed atop a stack of empty pizza boxes.

“What in the—”

Freddy jumps when he feels a pressure around his wrist followed by an audible _click_. Slowly, he turns his head, and there you are staring him down with wide eyes, a wider grin, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs connecting the two of you together. Freddy attempts to take a step away but a yank of your arm keeps him in place.

All the bear can do is watch as you dangle the keys in front of him then make a show of placing them in your mouth and swallowing.

He raises an eyebrow. “Kid, if you want to scare _me_ , you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.”

“What? _Scare you_?” You laugh. “Nah, friend, you’ve got the wrong idea. I just want to get to know you; have a good time. In fact, I think the two of us have a lot in common.”

Freddy’s lifted eyebrow raises just a little bit higher. He contemplates just grabbing you by the neck and ending everything here and now.

While the bear mulls over the best way to murder you and which suit your body will fit best in, you continue talking.

“For instance, I hear you like stuffing people into suits. What a coincidence,” you say, handcuff tugging at Freddy’s wrist as you reach down for something under your desk. You pull out a giant purple silicon fist that’s about as long as your forearm and twice as thick. “I like stuffing things into suits too.”

You flick a switch and the fist vibrates violently.

Freddy gulps.

You grin, teeth gleaming and a shadow cast over your eyes. “The safety word is _celebrate_.”

**~*~**

Bonnie jolts when Freddy bursts into the supply closet, the bear slamming the door shut and leaning against it as if his life depends on it.

“What happened to your hand?” Bonnie asks, pointing towards the sparking mass of damaged wires where Freddy’s right hand should be.

“I did what I had to do to survive,” he answers cryptically, his eyes downcast.

“Let me guess; you visited the new security guard, huh?”

Freddy’s silence is all the answer Bonnie needs.

**~*~**

When six o’ clock rolls around, you stroll by the stage, teeth sticking out over your bottom lip as you grin a stupid grin. “Dude, Freddy, you ain’t lookin’ too good there buddy. Here, let me give you a hand.” Your smile widens as you slowly lift a pair of fuzzy handcuffs in midair, a mechanical bear claw still attached at the wrist.

You guffaw as you chuck the bear’s own dismembered hand at its face. It hits the bear in the nose with an audible clang before falling on the stage floor to land by Chica’s feet.

“See you tonight, Fazbear.” You turn to leave, but pause, glancing at the bear over your shoulder. “Oh, and just a heads up; I plan on finishing what we started.”

Freddy’s eyes narrow as he watches you leave the building.

He doesn’t know who you are or what layer of hell you crawled your way out of. He doesn’t know how you come up with your awful ideas or how to fight against them. There’s only one thing that he knows for sure:

If he wants to get rid of you, he’s going to need some help.


	5. Night 5: Golden Freddy Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say all good things must come to an end. I guess that applies to horrible things too, because this story is officially over.
> 
> Despite the chapter’s misleading title, there are no piss jokes, and for that I sincerely apologize.
> 
> Discliamer: I don’t own Five Nights At Freddy’s.

Your fifth night on the job and things are suspiciously quiet.

All the animatronics have already cleared off the stage but you can’t find a single one of them on the cameras anywhere. You don’t even hear a peep coming from the kitchen.

Erring on the side of caution, you check the hall lights: nothing. Not a murder-bot in sight.

“They’re up to something.” You lean back in your chair, tapping lightly at your chin with your index finger. “What are you planning, bear?”

After a short moment of contemplation, you shrug your shoulders. Oh well; let them plot all they want. Worrying yourself sick over the unknown just isn’t your style.

Besides, you’ve got some preparations of your own to make.

**~*~**

Within the confines of a single bathroom stall, Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica discuss the many pros and cons of summoning a powerful evil entity that is more or less the equivalent of Bear Satan.

“Well, he’s definitely stronger than the rest of us,” says Chica.

“He’s also unpredictable,” argues Bonnie, fingers idly playing with his bowtie.

“All the more reason to request his services,” Freddy responds without a beat. “So far the guard has been able to throw us off, taking us by surprise with their strange behavior. Perhaps the way to best them is with a taste of their own medicine.”

Bonnie scowls. “Look, Boss Bear, I’ll admit that getting stared down by someone furiously masturbating was somewhat of a novel experience, but I didn’t spend three nights staring at the wall because it _surprised_ me.”

“Exactly. This guard isn’t just some dumb kid who acts randomly; we’re dealing with a full-blown mentally-deranged sociopath. We can’t pull any punches if we—”

“Yaarrr,” comes the forlorn cry from the pirate asshole in the stall to the left, “Why do I need to be in a separate stall?”

Freddy rolls his eyes. “I already told you, Foxy; it’s cramped enough in here as it is.”

“But why do I have to be by me-self? Can’t someone leave that stall and come in here with me.”

“No, Foxy. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

The old fox pokes his head up over the top of the stall. “I just want to feel included. It be lonely in here.”

“Shut up, Foxy.”

“You two idiots done yet or can we get back to the matter at hand?” Chica folds her arms over her chest, scowling at the fox and bear until the two of them look properly scolded. “Look, Freddy, I know times are desperate, and I don’t care much for the new guard myself, but don’t you think we’re overreacting? Just a little?”

“No,” The bear glances down where his right hand is held-together poorly by duct tape, “I don’t think we’re overreacting one bit.”

“But asking _him_?”

Freddy stares his band mates down with the tired, glassy-eyed gaze of a man who has exhausted all other options. “The new guard has sent each of us running with our tails between our legs. What other choice do we have?”

Bonnie and Chica say nothing. Foxy says some kind of strange pirate idiom but no one pays him any attention because, _hey_ , he’s Foxy.

“Then it’s decided.”

Wordlessly, the four set to work. They paint a pentagram on the bathroom’s tiled floor with marinara sauce, a slice of pizza laid down neatly at each corner. Once the summoning circle is completed, the band plays the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza theme song backwards.

Faucets burst. Mirrors shatter. Toilets flush.

And standing in the center of the pizza pentagram is Golden Freddy.

Bonnie tilts his head. “Was all this necessary? I thought all we had to do was say him name and he’d appear.”

“I have a flair for the dramatic,” Freddy answers with a shrug before turning towards his golden doppelganger. “You know what must be done.”

The golden bear nods its head slowly and with a blink of their mechanical eyes, Golden Freddy is gone.

**~*~**

If Golden Freddy had eyes instead of empty sockets, he would blink. Instead, he has to settle for tilting his head to the side at an unnatural angle in response to what greets him when he enters the security office.

The dulcet tones of Barry White’s greatest hits play seductively in the background. A box of cold pizza sits in the center of the desk. On either side of that pizza box is a lit candle. And then, in the center of the room, there’s _you_.

You’re reclining back in your office chair, your uniform replaced in favor of a red velvet robe and a matching fez. You pull the fine mahogany pipe from your mouth to speak. “I’ve been expecting you. Please,” you gesture towards a makeshift chair made out of empty pizza boxes across from you, “Have a seat.”

Hesitantly, Golden Freddy sits. The greasy cardboard is surprisingly sturdy.

“I know they sent you here to kill me. But consider this…” You pause to puff at your pipe, a stream of bubbles shooting out across the room. “How about you _don’t_ kill me.” 

Golden Freddy’s head straightens, then tilts to the opposite side.

“Now, believe it or not, I’m _not_ stupid; I realize you have no reason to listen to me over them. So…” You stand from your chair, holding Goldie’s eyeless gaze as you slowly make your way towards him. You place your hands on the bear’s shoulders as you straddle his lap. “Allow me to give you a reason.”

**~*~**

When Goldie steps out of the security office he is immediately approached by Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica.

“So,” Freddy says as he takes a step closer to his golden double, “Did you take care of them?”

“I…I got their phone number.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Freddy’s good paw smacks across his own face with an audible _CLANG_.

**~*~**

“As long as your new security guards strictly follow the directions I’ve given, I guarantee they’ll make it through every night without a hitch.”

The owner of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza looks over your written instructions with furrowed brows. “Well, your way is certainly… _unorthodox_ , I’ll admit, but I can’t deny that you get results.”

You cross your arms over your chest, nodding sagely. “Damn straight.”

“You know, since you’ve done so well with the animatronics, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“And barely get paid minimum wage for the rest of my life? Haha, no thank you.”

The man looks vaguely disappointed, but nods his head in understanding all the same. He glances over the list again before looking back up at you with a strange look in his eyes. “Hey… Just between me and you, what would you have done if the animatronics actually, you know, took you up on your offer?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you, _stupid_? They’re singing animatronic animals at a children’s restaurant; they don’t have genitals. Do you think I would have done any of this if I thought for one second that there was a chance I could end up with Freddy’s twig and berries touching my chin?”

“I—”

“Get your ass to church,” you say, cutting him off with a finger in his face. “You need Jesus.”

You don’t give the man another chance to speak before you excuse yourself from the table, eyeing the man with one last judgmental look before you walk up to the stage one final time.

“Well, it looks like this is it, guys. I’m really going to miss terrorizing y’all.” You honor each animatronic one last heart-wrenching, soul-crushing stare. “Have fun getting molested by people who aren’t me!”

And with a flip of your middle fingers and a skip in your step, you say your final farewells to the shitty pizzeria and the shittier robots that inhabit it.

**~*~**

Your cell phone’s ringtone jolts you out of sleep. As you grab your phone from your nightstand, you glance at your alarm clock. It’s three in the morning.

“Hello?” you answer in a groggy voice.

“ ** _IT’S ME_** ,” comes the static-filled screech over your phone’s speakers.

“Shit, I already know it’s you, Goldilocks; it’s called caller ID, you dense motherfucker. Plus you’ve been calling this number every hour tonight since midnight. Do you actually have something important to say to me or are you just going to hang up the phone and call me again at four?”

Your answer comes in the form of a click and a dial tone.

You toss your phone across the room. “Fuckin’ bears.”

That’s the last time you let an evil animatronic bear get to second base on the first date.


End file.
